


Something About December

by High-Seas-Swan (FangLang)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan Secret Santa, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9046688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangLang/pseuds/High-Seas-Swan
Summary: CS AU. For twelve days leading to Christmas Eve, Killian gifts Emma with a different photograph each day. These photographs embody holiday memories spanning from the Christmas they met to present day. “His hand snakes out from between them, and he holds out a picture. “Day one,” he whispers and smiles at her confused look. Just what the hell was he up to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CSSS 2016 Gift for @goddesswan on tumblr! Merry Christmas!

December 13th, 2016

 

There are plenty of things she could do before work: find her cookie dough ball recipe, wrap presents, finish up the last of the cards. With Christmas only two weeks away, time is running out to finish the important things.

 

Except.

 

She could also burrow further under the covers, and as she does, she’s pretty damn pleased with her decision. She pulls the recently abandoned pillow closer and buries her nose into the soft cotton, breathing in the familiar scent. The urge to stay wrapped in her cocoon is real, but one important person is missing. Another deep breath and she’s melting further into the blankets. She stills and listens; a car door slams, boots stomp on the front porch, and the familiar mumbled curse against the frigid weather follows. A smile quickly pulls at her lips, but she stays hidden under the thick down comforter and waits.

 

She secretly loves these early morning moments, when the stillness of their home comes to life with his quiet but sure movements - toast popped, coffee mug rinsed in the sink, a note scribbled on the small fridge chalkboard. The comfort is instant. It’s a feeling that settles deep in her chest and has her clutching the pillow tighter.

 

Creaking stairs, socked feet down the hall and the bedroom door opens with a soft click. She bites her lip.

 

She hears him in their closet, rummaging and then, “Have you seen my gray sweater? It’s bloody freezing.”

 

She waits, knowing what should come next. She feels the bed dip near her feet, and suddenly the blanket is tugged away from her chin.

 

“Take pity, love. I know you’re not sleeping, help your man out. I’m not much use to you if I turn into an icicle.”

 

Blue eyes flit across her features before narrowing at hers.

 

She blinks up at him, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room.

 

His dark hair is dusted with snowflakes, nose, cheeks, and ears all tinged pink from the cold. She reaches up to cup his cheek and runs a thumb over the cooled skin. He smiles and turns to press a kiss to her palm.

 

“Yeah but now I get you back in bed. Perfectly. Executed. Plan,” she declares in her sleep rough voice, reaching up to tug at the collar of his coat. She loves that he follows without complaint, his body already settling against hers, a chuckle lost against her lips. She kisses the cold away, not minding the melting snow as he braces himself on either side of her.

 

“You’re right, now you can warm me up,” he mumbles between nips to her bottom lip and slides his right hand beneath the covers.

 

“Killian!”

 

Her cry comes as soon as his frozen fingers slip under the hem of her t-shirt and find the warm skin of her waist. She twists away, and he falls to the bed beside her, all deep rumbling laughter and eyes that shine against her frown.

 

“Sorry,” he offers, looking anything but.

 

“Sure.”

 

He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. She gives him an exaggerated sigh but slips out of bed and hurries across the chilled floor to the closet.

 

“Where’s your other sock?” he calls after her, already lifting the covers.

 

She rises on tiptoes, one socked foot and the other bare, and pulls down his thick wool sweater.

 

“Forever lost in the blankets,” she calls back, also grabbing his bathrobe and sliding it on.

 

He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, sock dangling from his fingers when she returns. “No one goes missing on my watch.” He holds her hips steady as she balances on one foot, slipping on the missing sock.

 

“Thank you.”

 

She rests her arms on his shoulders as his knees cage her in.

 

“You know your robe is right beside mine,” he notes, parting the pilfered robe with his prosthesis, the tapered hook chilly against her bare thigh while his right hand reaches into his coat.

 

Her fingers tighten in the hair at the nape of his neck at the coolness of the metal and she enjoys his answering hum.

 

“Fine,” she teases, trying to pull away but his arm snakes around the top of her thighs and pulls her close.

 

“I’m just kidding.”

 

The words are muffled into her midsection.

 

“I have something for you,” he adds, tilting his head back, chin resting against her. She looks down, confused.

 

His hand snakes out from between them, and he holds out a picture. “Day one,” he whispers and smiles at her confused look.

 

She takes the picture and is momentarily distracted, he urges her hips backward and stands.

 

“Day what?” she asks and then, “Oh my God. Look at you.”

 

It’s a picture she is not sure she’s ever seen, inscribed with December 1998 neatly written on the back. Her first Christmas dinner at Granny’s, just weeks after her biological parents had found her again. When she was full of fear and feelings her seven-year-old self couldn’t begin to process, red-rimmed eyes looking at the camera. And there was Killian, Santa hat askew, Spiderman t-shirt and curious eyes on her.

 

“Where did you? What is this for? What…” she trails off looking between the picture and Killian.

 

Instead of answering he leaves her with a wink, a smacking kiss on her lips, and zips his coat the rest of the way.

 

“Day one, love. I’ll pick up dinner for tonight, yeah?”

 

“Uh, yeah…” she answers absently, watching him back out of the room.

 

When she hears the front door close with a whoosh, she sits back on the bed and takes another moment to study the picture and to ask, what the hell is he up to?

 

***

 

**December 1998**

 

Everyone has fake smiles on, and Emma hates it. She hates how their voices rise when they crouch down to say hello. She hates how these people who are supposed to be her real parents keep looking at her with worried eyes. She hates this stupid restaurant.

 

She hates that a small part of her hopes it’s real. It’s never real. It never lasts.

 

She looks over to see that, finally, the woman with short dark hair and the man with his arm around her are momentarily distracted. With her breath held, she slips from the booth, slowly backs away and right into someone else.

 

She trips over her feet and promptly lands on her behind, hearing something rip in the process.

 

“Hello. Who are you?”

 

She looks up to see a young boy wearing a Santa hat staring down at her. Her heart pounds. She’s not sure if it’s because of the pain from falling, the bright blue eyes on her or the fact that she ruined something else.

 

“I’ve never seen you here before. I think this fell off your dress.”

 

The boy keeps talking, words sounding a little different than her own, reaching down to pick up a bow.

 

And then suddenly there are more voices.

 

“Killian!”

 

“Emma!”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Killian, did you push her?”

 

“I didn’t! I was just saying hello!”

 

Emma looks at all the worried faces, the loud voices, and promptly bursts into tears.

 

***

 

**December 14th, 2016**

 

Emma enters in a rush of bitterly cold air and snowflakes. She presses back against the front door and dusts the snow from her coat. The warmth and comfort of home quickly settles into her chilled bones. It only takes a moment, but she soon catches the trace of spice and something savory that still lingers in the air. She hurries to pull off her hat and coat, and in a practiced motion, they find their place on a hook by the door, while her badge gets tossed into the dish at her right.

 

“Hello? Boys? Killian?” she calls out, slowly padding down the front hallway.

 

She peeks into the living room, half expecting a lazy scene of blankets and sleeping lumps on the couch but all that greets her are scattered Legos and Killian’s abandoned Canon.

 

She leans back to peek at the front entrance and spots little boots beside Killian’s brown ones. So they aren’t outside. She is about to head towards the kitchen when a shrieking giggle stops her short.

 

“You minuscule menace! To the brig with you!” Killian’s voice rings out clearly as more peals of laughter follow.

 

Emma hurries up the stairs and stops short in their bedroom doorway, unprepared for the scene. She claps a hand over her mouth to keep her smile hidden. Standing near their closet is Killian, with a giggling seven-year-old being held up by his ankle, red and gold gift clutched tightly in his little hands.

 

“Ah Deputy Nolan, you’ve arrived at a fitting moment.”

 

Killian uses his hook to elicit more giggles from the boy who tries to twist to see Emma.

 

“Emma! Emma! Save me!”

 

Emma snorts at the wink Killian offers as he meets her halfway. She dips upside down bringing her level with green eyes that match her own.

 

“What seems to be the problem?” she asks in her best deputy voice, narrowing her eyes playfully. They stare at each other cross-eyed.

 

“Well the problem it seems, is that your brother is quite the little thief.”

 

Emma gasps and rises, hands on hips.

 

“Neal Nolan. Is this true?”

 

Her brother holds the gift tighter and bites his lip.

 

“I was just exploring,” he finally admits. Emma shakes her head and holds out her hand. “It has my name on it,” Neal whispers, still upside down, still holding on but looking more miserable by the second. Emma takes the opportunity to swiftly pull the present from his grasp and replaces it with a poke to his belly. He curls in on himself and Killian slips his other arm around the wiggling boy, hoisting him over his shoulder.

 

“And you’ll get it on Christmas you little brat,” Emma adds with a ruffle to Neal’s dirty blond curls, who is already distracted, patting a rhythm onto Killian’s back. “Hey,” she whispers and rises to meet Killian’s lips in a chaste kiss, but one that still leaves her grinning.

 

“Hey,” he answers quietly with a brush of his nose. They linger a moment until –

 

“I’m hungry.”

 

“Well then, we best get you to the kitchen, Master Nolan. Those tomatoes won’t chop themselves,” Killian answers without missing a beat. “Ah but first, will you help me, lad?”

 

Killian brushes past Emma to his dresser. She watches them, amused, grinning right back at her brother who doesn’t seem to mind being carted around.

 

 “Right on top, there’s a picture. Will you hand that to your sister?”

 

Neal, eager to please one of his favorite people, grabs the picture from the corner of the dresser, extending his hand towards Emma. She takes it while Killian brushes his lips over the shell of her ear.

 

“Day two,” he whispers and slips from the room. “You’ll see that thieving runs in the family!” he adds from the hall, just as Emma flips over the picture.

 

A hiccupped laugh slips past her lips, while the memories from the faded photograph immediately rise to the surface. It was her second Christmas visiting Storybrooke with her parents, to spend the holidays at Granny Lucas’ and also the year she began warming up to the next door neighbor.

 

And almost immediately got them both in trouble, if not for Liam, Killian’s older brother, catching them Christmas present sleuthing, fingers slipping under the edges of the wrapping paper. He’d forced them to tape the packages back up and made them promise to leave the presents alone.

 

She grins at the picture. Two pairs of small stockinged feet stick out from beneath a tall, bright Christmas tree, a couple of terribly rewrapped presents discarded beside them. And she thinks, she didn’t just start warming up to him them, that was the night they became a team.

 

***                            

 

**December 1999**

 

“Do you think Liam will tell on us?” Emma asks, finger reaching to tap at a red Christmas ball. Killian reaches up to do the same.

 

“No, as long as we don’t do it again.”

 

“Ok.”

 

They stare at the bright multi-colored lights and shiny baubles in silence.

 

“I don’t have a tree like this at home,” Killian whispers. Emma turns to look at her new friend.

 

“Why not?” she asks.

 

“Father didn’t have time for one,” Killian mumbles.

 

Emma watches him another moment before an idea pops into her mind.

 

“I have a little one in my room! You can have it,” she declares, scrambling out from under the tree. Killian is quick to follow, stumbling to his feet.

 

“What?”

 

Killian looks to Emma’s outstretched hand to the big Christmas tree with bigger brighter eyes.

 

“Come on!” Emma urges and makes the decision for Killian, grabbing a hold of his hand and tugging him along.

 

It was time for Killian to have his own Christmas tree.

 

***            

 

**December 17th, 2016**

 

There’s no snow today, but the wind comes in gusts from the north and batters the small coastal town. The old slider windows of the Sheriff’s station rattle in their tracks while the small furnace tries to keep up. Emma pulls on the sleeves of her thermal, fingers disappearing, while her eyes flit between her computer and the front door. A half dozen worries are already jockeying for worst case scenario in her mind. She knows Killian is more comfortable on his ship than almost anywhere but still, the winter months can be hard and unpredictable.

 

“Any warnings from Kristoff?”

 

Emma startles in her seat, and her father gives her shoulder an apologetic squeeze. He settles against her desk, legs crossed at the ankles. He smiles softly, and she feels the knot in her belly loosen a little.

 

“Nah, and he’s on his way over too.”

 

Her father snorts.

 

“He knows you well.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and focuses instead on the three pictures lying on her desk.

 

“He’s bringing a file for us to look at, that’s all,” Emma mumbles, finger now tracing Killian’s smile on one of the pictures.

 

“He knows you well,” her father repeats but before Emma can protest he’s sweeping the pictures up from the desk and narrowing his eyes at the three different scenes. “What are these?”

 

Emma sighs but it’s hard to look too put out when color immediately rises to her cheeks and her lips threaten to pull into a grin.

 

“Killian’s been leaving them for me. Here and there. One a day,” she trails off when a violent gust whistles through the front entrance. Her father gives her a nudge, and she knows he just wants to keep her mind occupied, so she continues, “I don’t know. I think he’ll put them all in a frame and give it to me for Christmas or something.”

 

David nods before breaking out into a grin as he moves to the last picture in the group. He turns it around and pops an eyebrow. Emma can’t help but chuckle.

 

“I didn’t know what to do with the two of you. You come in, tears streaming, mittens held over your mouth, blood!” David stops to shake his head and then points to Killian in the picture. “And this punk storms in seconds later in an absolute panic and a black eye.”

 

Emma takes the picture and flips it around and reads her mother’s handwriting, December 2002, and then in Killian’s looping script, Day 5.

 

“I still can’t believe I let Arthur talk me into sticking my tongue on the net post. Killian kept trying to get me to leave.”

 

She can still remember the sheer panic when her tongue stuck and the pain that followed when she ripped it off.

 

“At least Killian hit him,” her father offers.

 

“Dad.”

 

“Who did Killian hit?”

 

Kristoff enters the station with a gust and a grin. And it sets Emma further at ease. She knows what she said to her father, but she also knows Kristoff (as Harbormaster and as a friend) looks out for her and Killian. Kristoff wouldn’t look as chipper as he does if the weather was worsening for her lobsterman.

 

“Arthur,” David answers.

 

Kristoff shucks his thick gloves and looks between them, confusion evident as Killian and Arthur are quite close now.

 

“Fourteen years ago,” Emma clarifies, giving a last glance to the photographs from the last few days before slipping them into her drawer.

 

Kristoff nods like it all makes sense before crossing the room to David’s desk.

 

“Can you check if you have these two in your system? I can’t tell if Leroy is just grumbling or if someone is actually siphoning gas from him. And there’s been a few other little things around the docks with some of the traps and gear,” Kristoff explains dropping two files off.

 

Before Emma can say, told you so, to her father, Kristoff continues.

 

“No severe weather warnings, Ems. Next few days should be clear too. Killian and Liam should be back in port shortly. I think they got their haul for the day early.”

 

She breathes a relieved, “Yeah?” just as her father gives her another shoulder squeeze. Her cell rings.

 

“Why don’t you go back to the docks with Kristoff? It’s quiet here.”

 

She jumps up to place a quick kiss on her father’s cheek before taking the call.

 

“Killian? Fifteen minutes? I’ll meet you there.”

 

She’s already shrugging on her coat as he asks if she’s called the coastguard.

 

“Just wait for me, funny guy.”

 

***

**December 19th, 2016**

 

“Coming to bed, love?”

 

Lips brush against her neck and hips slowly pin hers to the kitchen island just as she’s dropping the last cookie dough ball into her container. She lulls her head to the side, giving him more room to roam and shivers as want tightens in her belly.

 

The Christmas rush is leaving her restless and with a desire to hide away with Killian until January. She loves the holidays; she loves the carols. She loves her family and friends, but as Killian’s fingers guide her to meet his lips, she doesn’t want to worry about anything or anyone but him.

 

She falls into the kiss effortlessly, turning to mold herself against him, sighing into his mouth and holding on tighter. She burns where they touch and doesn’t want to let go, so she chases his lips as he pulls away. He doesn’t go far, smiling against her whispered protests.

 

His hand slips under her t-shirt, slipping up her rib cage to cup her breast, his thumb brushes back and forth over the lace barrier. She arches into his touch just as her phone rings. She pouts glancing at the number, knowing she should answer. But his thumb is pushing the cup of her bra down, and his mouth finds her nipple, straining through the thin cotton of her tee.

 

“Oh,” she breathes out as the ringing ceases. He slides to her other breast, and she slips her hands into his hair, ready to pull him to the floor then and there.

 

Her phone starts again. She quickly debates putting it in the freezer with her desserts but instead drops her head back to blink at the ceiling. His hand slips free, and he straightens, hand and wrist at her waist.

 

“I hate this. I want to be selfish. I want to be alone with you. I want, ugh!” She mutes to the call again and gives him a sheepish look. “I know I’m being--,” she doesn’t get any further because he silences her with a quick peck and smiles.

 

“Let’s have a hibernation day. Leave a message for your father, see if he can handle the station. I’ll call Liam. We won’t leave the house tomorrow,” he suggests.

 

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice all hope.

 

“Of course.”

 

“But what about--,”

 

“Whatever we have to do it’ll wait until Tuesday,” he cuts off her concerns. “Make your calls, I’ll make mine and meet me upstairs. We don’t even have to leave the room.”

 

He waggles his eyebrows, a triumphant smile coming when she laughs and nods.

 

“Ok, let’s do this.”

 

When her phone rings again, she answers brightly.

 

It takes a little longer to settle her calls than she would have liked but when her father responds to her text with a no problem, it’s smooth sailing.

 

(She even samples one of her creations before sliding them into the freezer.)

 

And with the Christmas tree unplugged and the lights outside dark, she heads upstairs with hope not to come down anytime soon.

 

Killian isn’t out of the bathroom, so she hurries to slip into her sleep clothes, and is about to pull the blankets back when she spots a photograph on her pillow.

 

(This was something else that was bugging her – the pictures had suddenly stopped the day before but she hadn’t wanted to say anything.)

 

She glances at the back and shakes her head at the inscription. She should have known.

 

_I didn’t forget! There’s a plan! Day 6, December 2007._

 

She settles in the middle of the bed and studies the picture. It’s a simple shot of them sitting on a couch together, but the fun lies in the blush coloring Emma’s cheeks when Killian had wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The very same Christmas she admitted to herself that she had a real crush on her best friend. She snorts at how obvious it must have been.

 

She hears the bathroom door open, and she’s about to ask how no one teased her about said crush when the words get stuck in her throat. He’s in his flannel pants and tee, and his eyes are lined with kohl.

 

“What? What’s this?” she finally croaks, holding her hand out beckoning him over. He gives her a lopsided grin and scratches behind his ear. His nerves are evident, but she’s not quite sure why.

 

“One moment, love.”

 

He walks to his dresser and hesitates.

 

She cocks her head to the side while he finally decides to rummage in his top drawer. With his back to her, he starts.

 

“So I didn’t forget the picture yesterday. I just wanted to present it with the next two. I think they are all important, even if I’m a little ashamed.”

 

He turns but doesn’t look up, instead keeps his eyes on the pictures in his hands. When he reaches the edge of the bed, Emma rises to knees and inches closer. He drops both pictures face down on the bed.

 

Her hand finds his warm cheek, gives a light scratch to his stubble and waits for him to look up. When he finally does, she’s met with eyes that look startlingly blue. It might have something to do with the dark kohl. She hasn't seen him with it in years, before he joined the Royal Navy, before- her thoughts trail off as she begins to understand.

 

“Still looks as good as it did ten years ago,” she whispers, thumb brushing the apple of his cheek, remembering Killian at sixteen and seventeen, angry at the world, a sadness she wishes she could have taken away.

 

Instead of answering he surges forward, kissing her hard.

 

She lets him pour whatever charged emotions he’s feeling into the kiss. She lets him lead her back against the bed, lets him press her into the mattress and squeeze her thigh as it hitches higher on his hip and finally lets him take shaky breaths in the crook of her neck.

 

“I should probably explain,” he whispers, words ghosting against the shell of her ear. She traces her fingers up and down his back until his breathing calms, and he rises on his forearms above her. He stares a moment until she bites her lip against his intense gaze. “I love you,” he adds with a gentle brushing of his lips and finally moves to grab the pictures from the end of the bed.

 

Before he can start on those, she feels around for the picture from earlier.

 

“Do you remember this Christmas?” she asks turning onto her side. Killian settles beside her, taking the picture.

 

“Of course. I remember all of them.”

 

“Yeah, but do you remember what you said to me that year? When you found me outside, alone, feeling sorry for myself,” Emma rolls her eyes at the memory, of being jealous of her new little brother. This new, perfect baby that everyone was fussing over.

 

A soft smile pulls at Killian’s lips.

 

“I told you, no one was going to forget about you. That you were loved and amazing and that there was no one like you.”

 

She blushes the same color she did that day. The same wild beating of her heart trips in her chest.

 

“You tried to tell me I’d probably forgot about you as soon as I went back home to London. That a few weeks every December wasn’t much, and I told you that you were my best friend and to trust me.”

 

Emma’s heart is in her throat. It’s almost word for word the conversation they had had. She blinks quickly hoping to alleviate the burning in her eyes. Killian reaches out and wipes at the dampness. 

 

“I love you,” she whispers. “Are you going to show me what's making you so nervous? I think I have an idea now,” she adds, thumb gently tracing the smudged kohl under his eyes.

 

He huffs, pulling the pictures up between them but pauses.

 

“Day seven.”

 

A kiss to her right eyelid.

 

“Day eight.”

 

A kiss to the left.

 

The first picture was from Storybrooke’s annual Christmas in the Square, where they had games, and hot chocolate and ice skating. Except neither Killian nor Liam were there and Emma hung in the background, a frown evident.

 

“Oh,” Emma sighs at the sight, reaching out for Killian’s wrist, hand squeezing.

 

“I was unfair to you that year,” Killian mumbles, flopping to his back, the memories just as clear for him.

 

Emma drops the picture and leans over her boyfriend, hand over his heart.

 

“Hey. Stop. You lost your mother that year. Liam joined the Navy, and you had to move here alone. I wasn’t there for you.”

 

He rolls his eyes. She flicks his forehead.

 

“You didn’t know,” he responds, and she’s surprised at how much it still seems to affect him.

 

“We fixed it quick enough. Right before I left that same year,” she reminds him, a soothing touch against his brow.

 

Instead of answering, he plucks the third and final picture from her grasp and turns it around.

 

She gasps.

 

“Who? How?” she stutters out her questions.

 

“Who else? Your mother.”

 

Emma grabs the picture and flops back beside Killian.

 

“How many more surprises like this do you have?” she asks. He shrugs, not looking innocent at all.

 

Her eyes stay on the picture, her and Killian in a tight embrace. She still can hear the whispered promises.

 

***

 

**December 2008**

 

“I got you a cell phone. I programmed my number, and I prepaid some minutes. You can call me whenever or text or just anything when you’re ready.”

 

Emma thrusts the wrapped package into Killian’s chest, hands shaking.

 

Sad, dark-lined eyes blink at her in shock.

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I didn’t know, but I promise I’ll always be there now, I promise, Killian. I’m sorry my parents are waiting for me in the car, and I have to go,” her words trail off as she glances back at the car, at her parents pretending not to watch.

 

Her breath is knocked from her lungs when he pulls her against him and she struggles to get it back when she feels his warm tears against her neck. The package ends up on the ground but neither notice. She has her friend back.

 

***

 

**December 23rd, 2016**

 

Their hibernation day has done wonders for their morale, and after escaping the world for a full day, they are able to make the final push to Christmas. Days spent working, fitting in last minute gift buying and, to Emma’s continued delight, more photographs and memories.

 

She thoroughly enjoyed day nine, a picture of her facing away from the camera, floury handprints on her jean-clad behind. Hands that belonged to a beet red Killian Jones who stood beside her (Killian who had been making up for lost time when they’d finally found a moment alone). And her father, arms crossed, glaring at the camera. She only wishes that her mother had caught the next moment. Her father declaring, “Maybe we won’t move to Storybrooke after all. I’ll tell the mayor I don’t want the Sheriff’s job.” Emma had launched herself at her father so quickly all the man could do was chuckle on an expelled breath and return the embrace.

 

As much happiness as that moment had brought her (the boy she'd pined over feeling the same way, she was finally moving to the town she loved, and having a truly happy Christmas), it also left her with a pit in her stomach. A vision of a younger Killian swims in front of her, the two of them sitting on her living room carpet, backs against the couch. “It’s not forever, Emma. It’s just for now. The Royal Navy will give me a better chance for the future. And Liam will be there too, looking out for me.” He’d begged her to understand, and as hard as it had been, she had.

 

(Not without difficulty and letters and phone calls and visits when they could, but they had managed.)

 

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Killian’s voice brings her out of her reverie. She glances up to see him deposit two mugs on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch. He pulls her feet onto his lap, and he waits patiently while she sips her hot buttered rum.

 

“This is so good.”

 

She closes her eyes as her whole body warms.

 

“I was thinking about when you first joined the Navy,” she finally admits. Always a little hesitant to bring it up, not sure how he’ll react but he’s looking at her with a small smile from behind his mug.

 

“Funny you should mention that,” he starts, leaning forward to put his cup down and free his hand. He reaches into the front pocket of his shirt and pulls out yet another photograph. He looks at it and hesitates, tapping it against his lip as he watches her.

 

“You don’t,” she says, somehow knowing exactly what he holds in his hand. She doesn’t know how but she knows.

 

“I do.”

 

She doesn’t reach for it, and he doesn’t hand it over. He looks at it again.

 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you’d have left,” he admits, and this time she does move. To smack his arm.

 

“Killian. That was never an option,” she declares, wrenching the picture from his hand.

 

“But.”

 

“Never.”

 

She reads the date, December 2012, and flips it over. She covers her mouth. They are both asleep in the picture; Killian in his hospital bed, left arm bandaged (hand missing), cuts and bruises on his face, and Emma in a chair, her head on his bed, his right hand clutched in hers.

 

“Nurse Nemo gave me this. Do you remember him?” Killian asks, giving her foot a squeeze. She presses the picture over her heart and nods. Killian continues, “I think he had a soft spot for me. He also gave me hell when he overheard me telling you that you should leave.”

 

Emma tosses the picture onto the coffee table and moves to straddle her stubborn boyfriend's lap. He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch, and she helps him wrap it around them both.

 

“I was a right idiot,” he admits.

 

“But you're my idiot, and eventually you understood.”

 

***

 

**December 2012**

 

“You stayed,” his voice is rough, his mouth dry.

 

She turns from her place, arms crossed, standing silhouetted in the window and studies him. He winces as he tries to reach for his water and it's what gets her moving.

 

“Wait, wait,” she whispers, reaching for his water and helping him take a few sips. When he's had his fill and settles back against the pillows, she paces the room.

 

“I apologize, Emma, I -” he struggles to find his words, but she holds up her hand. He stops and watches her as she resumes her pacing. She unties her messy bun and reties her hair into an equally messy ponytail. She stuffs her hands into her back pockets and then comes to a stop at the end of his bed.

 

“Where would I have gone, you idiot? When have I ever listened to you? I love you. You’re stuck with me, don’t you know that yet?”

 

His eyes still so blue despite the bruising and his exhaustion, soften for the first time since she’s arrived.

 

“What?” she demands, body tense, emotions a complete mess.

 

He holds his right hand out and when she hesitates he actually smiles.

 

“Come here, please,” he implores and although she drags her feet, she comes to his side and lends her hand. He slowly brings it to his dry, chapped lips and places a careful kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry. I really am happy you’re here and,” he looks up to make sure she’s looking. “I love you too.”

 

Something in her legs gives out and she plops down into the chair beside the bed.

 

“Ok. Ok, good. Apology accepted,” she mumbles through a teary laugh, and it’s her turn to press wet kisses to his hand, to hold it to her cheek as his thumb brushes at the tears. “Ok.”

 

***

 

**December 24th, 2016**

 

Nothing could have dampened Emma’s mood this twenty-fourth of December. She’d caroled with a tipsy Leroy as she walked him safely to Walter’s. She’d promised not to tell Gretel’s parents if the girl agreed to return the missing wise man to the nativity scene, and she had locked up the station confident neither she nor her father would have to go back for at least twenty-four hours.

 

It only takes a quick stop at home to change, and with the slowly falling snow, Emma enjoys her walk to her parents, her iPod playing her favorite Christmas song on repeat. The Nolan homestead is colorfully decorated, cars lining the drive, and Emma imagines the mulled wine and spiked eggnog are already flowing. She wipes her boots on the welcome mat and stashes her headphones in her jacket pocket before walking right in. ”

 

She can tell her mother’s been busy; the air thick with spices and baking envelops her, her mouth watering at all the possibilities. She hangs her coat and listens. The sounds of the holidays are dancing from all over the house: her mother in the kitchen playfully arguing with Liam’s wife, Elsa, about the turkey, the football game whistling from the den, her father’s murmured voice in his study. Her stomach grumbles and makes the decision for her. To the kitchen!

 

She finds her mother and Elsa huddled together over the counter.

 

“What are we tasting?” Emma asks in place of a hello. They both turn, bright smiles, fruit on skewers.

 

“Fondue!” she hears her brother’s voice pipe up, head appearing between the two women as he pops a chocolate covered grape into his mouth.

 

“Well, let me in then!” she declares, giving her brother’s hair a ruffle and kisses to each of the women.

 

Elsa quickly supplies her with a glass of red wine, and they settle over the chocolate. They debate which games to play, and whisper with Neal about which presents Santa might bring. Emma is crunching on the last of the apple slices when she finally asks where the men are, surprised Killian hasn’t come to find her.

 

Her mother looks around, her eyes avoiding Emma’s. “Um, I’m not… I’m not sure… Where they are,” she says, unconvincingly. Emma bites her tongue to keep from laughing, allowing her mom the surprise, whatever it may be.

 

“I think David needed help moving something heavy?” Elsa offers just as the door to her father’s office finally opens.

 

The men enter the kitchen, pink cheeks and dopey smiles, looking very much like they got into something stronger than the wine.

 

“Honestly, David,” Emma hears her mother mutter.

 

Her father looks up and spots her and without a word, wraps her in a tight hug. Elsa just manages to grab the wine from her fingers before she would have dropped it.

 

“Hi to you too,” Emma croaks out eyes going to Killian for an explanation, but he too has an odd look on his face.

 

She goes to him as soon as her father lets her go, hand reaching for his.

 

“Hey, everything ok, sailor?” she asks quietly, pulling him away from the others. He seems to take a moment to study her before making a decision.

 

“Of course, love,” he answers in equally hushed tones, and walks her backward until her back meets the wall. He swallows her surprised sound and takes the opportunity to kiss her long and deep. He tastes like whisky and like someone that wants to be on the naughty list.

 

His kiss lasts until her fingers are gripping his silly Christmas sweater, until excuses on how can they leave, right now, begin to form in the back of her mind, until they finally have to pull away to gasp for air.

 

“Hi,” he whispers, nose brushing hers.

 

She hiccups a breathless laugh.

 

“Hi.”

 

“How was the end of your day?” he asks but before she can answer, he’s glancing outside, and there’s an eager look in his expression. He grabs her hand and tugs her towards the patio doors. “Come outside for a minute?”

 

He takes another step back, and she follows but scrunches her nose.

 

“Now?”

 

She looks down at their socks but he’s already dropping her hand and pulling the sliding door open. Sure, the backyard is festively lit with tiny white lights, but it’s snowing and cold and –

 

“Please,” he urges, taking a step into the snow.

 

“You’re crazy,” she says with a shake of her head but follows him out, footwear be damned. The snow immediately dampens her socks and flakes settle quickly in Killian’s hair, but he pays them no mind. Instead he tugs her further out until they stand in the middle of the patio. He drops her hand and scratches behind his ear, eyeing her nervously. “Killian?” she asks, wanting to move forward but something in his gaze stops her.

 

“Do you remember what we talked about the other day?” he asks, hand reaching into his pocket, staying there.

 

She tilts her head, thinking maybe he did have a little too much whisky.

 

“You asked me if I remembered the Christmas I found you out here by yourself.”

 

She nods and he takes a step closer.

 

“I told you there was no one like you. I should have added so much more back then, but I was too nervous. You were watching me with those beautiful green eyes, I was sure you would see through me, but today - ” His words stop short when he pauses to kiss her furrowed brow

 

“But today what, Killian?” she whispers, her heart suddenly racing, maybe she was the one that was drunk.

 

“Do you know why Christmas is so special to me, love?” he asks instead.

 

She avoids the urge to groan at his sudden change of topic, just barely. Instead of prolonging the mystery she only shakes her head.

 

“I love Christmas because of you. Every memory I have of the holidays is tied to you. Even the darkest ones were made brighter because I had you to hold onto. I hope that the photographs over the last twelve days showed you some of that and --”

 

She watches, eyes wide as he pulls a sparkling ring from his pocket.

 

“So the pictures weren’t about you giving me a big collage for Christmas?” she blurts out looking between the ring and his eyes. He snorts a small laugh and holds the ring between them.

 

She’s shaking, and she’s pretty sure it isn’t from the cold.

 

“Emma Nolan, you make me laugh, you make me a better man. You are strong and smart and so beautiful. I want all the Christmas memories with you--”

 

“Yes,” she whispers.

 

“You didn’t let me fin-”

 

“Yes.” She’s smiling so hard it hurts. Killian was also getting a little blurry but she couldn’t get her arms to move.

 

His smile matches hers.

 

“Will you marr--”

 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

 

A giggle from behind them. They turn to see the whole family squeezed onto the small balcony, their coats unzipped, wide smiles. Her mother clutches a camera, tears in her eyes.

 

“Get the ring on, ole’ boy!” shouts Liam, throwing his fist into the air.

 

“Day 12,” he declares, sliding the ring on her finger, “Happy Christmas, love.”

 

“Happy Christmas, Killian.”


End file.
